World of Strangers

A weather-beaten face, moist eyes, breath smelling alcohol and a salt-and-pepper beard – you would mistake him for Devdas himself. As he wobbled around, unsure of his bearings, you could almost see the albatross perched on his shoulders, refusing to fly away. With a bottle of water in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he sat himself on the ground. Mutterings interspersed with faint sobs. The need to waste away could have arisen from infinite possibilities.